


Guardian

by Imagine_Darksiders



Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Attempted Murder, F/M, G/T, Giant/Tiny, Heaven, Microphilia, Shrinking, TINY - Freeform, micro/macro, spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-04-27 21:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14434806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagine_Darksiders/pseuds/Imagine_Darksiders
Summary: An errand gone awry leaves you in a very undesirable predicament that could honestly have been avoided if you’d kept your nose out of a book, for once. Luckily for you, you have heaven’s strongest and brightest on hand to keep you out of trouble. You’re just not looking forward to explaining this one to Death……





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> H o l y m o l y. This is the longest fanfic I’ve written yet lmao. Ugh, so self indulgent. Oh well. I had fun <3 Future chapters are still up in the air. I may do smut, I honestly haven’t decided yet. :S

Carefree.

At this moment, that’s the word that springs to mind as you trot happily from Jamaerah’s spire, tossing the portly angel a friendly goodbye and shifting your grip on the books and scrolls, juggling them about in your arms.

A few days ago, Death had received an invitation to the White City; a sordid affair involving a demon and an angel having drawn the attention of the Council of Archangels, who figured that rather than deal with the issue themselves, they’d get the horseman to do it for them. Of course, you’d gotten wind of the visit, and considering that two of your very close angelic friends live in the White City, you’d begged Death to take you with him.

To avoid the inevitable headache, he agreed.

Thus, a few days later, you and the horseman arrived in Heaven.

Azrael, having anticipated Death’s reluctant decision to bring you along, greeted you warmly and welcomed you with open arms. To your pleasant surprise, many other angels expressed similar exuberance at your arrival, most clamouring to talk or simply gawk at you where a few of the younger ones bombarded you with inquisitive, albeit intrusive questions. Inevitably though, there were those who were thoroughly opposed to the whole notion. However, following an unnecessarily graphic threat from Death, most of the latter fell silent and skulked off to resume their respective duties. After some time spent touring the districts, guided by an ebullient Azrael and shadowed by your newer, but no less dear friend, Nathaniel, you were soon herded into a spiralling, blindingly white tower that Azrael called ‘home.’ It was there that the horseman left you, ensuing a lengthy discussion and a lot of assurance that you’d be perfectly fine without him.

\---

You duck carefully beneath the tattered wings of an old, red-robed angel and slip easily around numerous feathered city-goers, each bustling about, hardly taking much notice of the stranger in their midst. Those that do notice nearly collide painfully with each other, much to your amusement.

The streets of the White City are as infinite as Azrael had described and you doubt that without the simple map he’d drawn for you on a scrap of parchment, you’d never have found your way to the Scribe’s spire. Having spent a few too many days cooped up in the angel’s study and feeling generally unhelpful, you asked if there was anything you could do to help, something that might get you out into the city, perhaps. Azrael had been hesitant at first, but after yet another bout of convincing, he agreed to allow you out on your own, mentioning a need for a few bits and pieces that he’d meant to collect from Jamaerah days ago. He let you go under one condition; “ _I implore you, under no circumstances must you open the book with the leather binding_.” A simple enough request.

Or so you’d thought at the time.

So that’s where you find yourself, gallivanting through town as the light gets dimmer and dimmer thanks to the suns that set gradually behind the heavenly towers.

Excitement thrums deep in your chest, exhilaration evident by the spring in your step and the rapid darting of your eyes as you take in every scintillating sight the dazzlingly bright city has to offer. The prospect of exploring Heaven more thoroughly had kept you up last night, head filled with zestful imaginings of what you might discover.

And tomorrow would only bring more adventure, for when you’d arrived at the gates of the White City, Nathaniel had also been there to meet you, although his duties pulled him away before long. But he’d promised you - quite literally with hand on heart – that he would set aside tomorrow to spend it showing you around properly.

A secret smile creeps across your face upon recalling his proposal.

Not long after the day you and Death arrived in Lost Light, you found yourself being swept up in a timely rescue by the angelic warrior during a particularly hard fight with several of his corrupted brethren. Almost immediately, you’d struck up an odd friendship with him. He’d been just as fascinated with you as you were with him and you quickly discovered that he was ferociously brave, unwaveringly loyal – almost to a fault – Curious, serious and utterly, wonderfully handsome.

Coming back into yourself when an angel gives you a funny look, you realise that you must be blushing quite prominently just at the thought of Nathaniel; his noble chin and unyielding eyes. The super human power behind each movement he makes but the fact that he’s so meticulously gentle with you. Before too long, 'friendship’ stopped feeling like an adequate term for how you felt about the stalwart angel. Sadly though, angelic law is structured in such a way that makes it impossible for you to further a relationship, even if you were brave enough to do so. And besides, Nathaniel is not a rule-breaker.

As a result, you’re left to nurse your rare case of puppy love in secret, frustrated that you couldn’t have fallen for a nice, homely Earthen boy.

But, no sense squandering the precious friendship you and he do have, so you shove aside the daydream after almost tripping over a box of strange fruits, ducking away from the feathery shopkeep’s scolding glare.

—

On the very top of the pile of books in your arms, sitting right underneath your nose is a tome bound in soft, brown leather. It’s cover is suspiciously bare, only the spine has a dull inscription on it, but it’s written in an ancient language that you can’t even hope to translate. Squinting down at the curious book, you purse your lips. “What’s so forbidden about you?”

It doesn’t respond.

“Huh. Rude.”

The chatter and noise from the city peter away and its residents begin dispersing whilst you make the lonely trek back to Azrael, suddenly hyper-focused on the leather book in your arms. The other scrolls and tomes matter little when you’ve got an off-limits option just laying there, waiting to be read. You shake your head to clear it. The desire to disobey Azrael’s request gnaws at the forefront of your mind, urging you to just take a quick peek. “ _No_ ,” you snap aloud, suddenly glad that the street has emptied so nobody can witness you having an argument with yourself, “He told me not to.”

A pause, then -

“….No, I can’t.”

It’s noticeably quiet in the street now and dark shadows have started to seep down the once bright buildings, stretching over the smooth ground and clawing at your feet.

You stop dead in your tracks, glaring down at the stupid old book. Curiosity has long been one of your defining traits, or maybe it pertains to humanity as a whole. Ironically, if Azrael hadn’t told you not to open it, you wouldn’t have given the book a second glance. As it stands, however…..

“Okay.” You kneel down, placing the tomes on the ground and resting the leather book on top of them. “Just one look. Page one. Then done, no biggie. What Azrael doesn’t know -” You thumb the binding thoughtfully. “ - won’t hurt him.”

Peering around the street one last time to ensure you’re alone, you’re pleased to see that it’s devoid of life. Sucking in an anticipating breath, you slot your fingertips beneath the cover of the book and pull it open, breath baited and heart beating happily at the rush that so often comes with disobeying an order.

Without warning, a dizzying wave of weakness washes through your entire body from head to toe and it causes you to drop the book to the ground. “Shit,” you hiss, struggling to stay upright. “What the Hell was that?”

Blinking wetly, you stare down at the book, waiting for something else to happen. But it just….sits there. It isn’t glowing, it isn’t vibrating, the page you’d turned to is nothing particularly special. In all, it’s disappointingly plain. Well, except for the fact that it seems to be growing. Wait-

Back up.

Right before your very eyes, the pages get bigger and bigger but it’s not just the book that’s expanding, you realise with a jolt. The whole street is stretching and warping madly upwards, towering into the sky. It takes you an embarrassingly long time to understand that it isn’t the world around you that’s changing; It’s you.

You’re getting smaller. The epiphany hits you like a slap to the face when you finally collapse to the cold ground, breathing erratically with a heaving chest. Stars dance in your vision even when you close your eyes, so instead you lay on your back, staring up at the titanic buildings around you and the indigo sky beyond.

Eventually, after an unknown expanse of time, the world stops spinning just enough that you start to believe you’d simply passed out and imagined the whole thing.

Grunting and griping, you push yourself up onto your elbows, then your hands and finally, you delicately pivot your head around, trying to get a handle on the situation.

Your heart sinks upon catching sight of everything around you.

A huge pile of books and scrolls are strewn about, as tall and wide as hillocks and it’s only when you notice the familiar, brown leather of the one closest to you that you realise they’re Azrael’s. You marvel at them for a while, wondering how on Earth you’re supposed to get them back to him now.

That’s when the rationality sets in. And with it, comes blind panic.

“H O L Y   **S H I T** !!!!”

A scream bubbles its way up your throat and rushes out of you, rending the air with it’s shrillness. “The bloody book is _cursed_!”

You kick and scramble away from the abandoned items, falling over multiple times on the mad dash backwards before you finally have the sense to turn around and push yourself upright with both hands.

As fast as you can, you bolt down the street, suddenly finding it too long. You can’t even see the next corner. Terror and incomprehensible confusion wrestle with reason and sense to dominate your mind, clouding your thoughts and fuelling your random sprint. In lieu of any specific location to run to, you simply run anywhere.

All of a sudden, something impossibly huge slams to the ground a few yards in front of you and you snap your head back to take in the new threat. A veritable monolith of an angel has landed directly in your path, his golden, metal wings splayed out for balance and his helmet tilted down at his feet where you skid to a messy halt. You shriek, hitting the brakes but falling onto your back in your haste to stop before sliding to rest right between the angel’s boots. He glares down at you, lips curled upwards in an amused sneer. Then, without warning, he hefts a terribly sharp-looking halberd off his back, pointing the end towards the ground. Gasping, you attempt to right yourself so that you might make another escape, but before you can get up properly, the sharp end of the weapon jabs you hard in the chest, knocking the wind out of you and pinning you easily to the ground. Perhaps if you weren’t so afraid of being murdered right then and there, you might have been awed by the sheer level of control the angel has over his weapon, wielding it accurately enough to trap someone so tiny without actually impaling you.

Moving your head from the halberd up, up and even further up to the angel’s face, you swallow thickly at what you see. The look he’s giving you isn’t one of curiosity or wonder, if anything, the glint in his yellow eyes is downright malicious.

This is quickly becoming a very dangerous situation.

“Well, well, well. Now isn’t this a treat. Had a little accident, did we? _Human_?” The angel’s voice is tight and laced with badly concealed contempt. He spits the word 'human’ as though trying to dislodge a particularly unpleasant taste from his tongue. Frantically, you begin shoving and smacking at the tip of the halberd that’s keeping you pressed painfully against the hard ground, however your attempts at freeing yourself prove completely comical to your angelic tormentor. He throws his head back and guffaws loudly, voice echoing down the darkened street. You desperately try to look around to see if there’s someone, anyone who might help you. But the light is fading in the White City. There’s shadows crawling up the once bright architecture, signalling the close of day. Most angels have already retired into their respective abodes, leaving you and this patrolling guard perfectly, utterly, dangerously alone.

For as many angels as there are who are curious and even friendly with humans, there are just as many who were thoroughly against the idea of having one wandering about in their city. A lot of angels still view humanity as a base civilisation, no better than beasts. And lucky you. You just so happened to stumble across one with the latter outlook.

Perfect.

Suddenly, the angel cuts off his laughter in favour of kneeling down to get a better look at you. His already expansive bulk grows ever larger when he looms over you menacingly and you have to shut your eyes to keep yourself from passing out when his face rushes to fill your view entirely. With no effort at all on his part, he’s suddenly become all you can see, like a mountain rising from the ground beneath your feet.

“Hmm,” he mumbles, at last pulling his halberd away from your chest to set it down at his side. “What to do with you….We _are_ under strict orders to return you to Lord Azrael, should we happen upon you in the city….”

Deep in the pit of your stomach, a feeble spark of hope flickers to life. Angels are nothing, if not sticklers for the rules. So surely if this one has been ordered to return you to Azrael, you’ll make it out of the hideous encounter in one piece. Unfortunately, lady luck had abandoned you the moment you started to mess around with that damnable spell book.

The guard pipes up, sounding far more sinister than is really necessary. “Then again, you are incredibly small. Why, from all the way up here, I can barely make you out!” He sneers, feigned concern dripping from his lips like a poison. “In fact, you’re _so_ tiny, it’d be easy for some unfortunate accident to occur.” Lifting a golden fist, he gives it a few experimental flexes, needlessly showing off the power he has over you. “And as I’m sure you’re aware, human…” he growls, flicking his yellow gaze from his hand down to where you’re still sprawled helplessly on the ground, “…accidents. _Happen_.”

Tears pour relentlessly down your face, but no sound escapes your throat, too dry from the visceral fear. For all the good screaming would do you anyway, there’s nobody close enough to hear.

' _So this is how it ends_ ,’ you realise, ' _All because you couldn’t complete a simple, mundane task. You just had to get curious and shove your nose into that old book rather than deliver it to Azrael, like you’d promised. **Idiot**_.’ Breathing rapidly and staring up at the angel’s raised fist, all you can think of is how disappointed the archangel will be when he finds out.

With a last, dismal sob, you clench your eyes shut tightly, praying that it would at least be swift.

…….

All of a sudden, a ferocious battle cry rips through the air like the boom of a cannon and the sound of metal clashing against metal makes you jump out of your skin as a collision with the force of an earthquake throws you violently into the air. You thud to the ground again with an 'oof,’ landing hard on your backside. Eyes bursting open, you try to make sense of the monumental flurry of movement happening above. There are flashes of gold and white. Feathery wings beat threateningly at your attacker who’d somehow found himself flung several feet away and is currently struggling back to his feet.

Mouth agape, your gaze is drawn to the juggernaut standing over you, the one who’s deep, commanding voice roars furiously, deafeningly, “Kushiel! What is the _meaning_ of this?!”

The sheer volume of the shout ricochets through your skull and rattles your bones, so you clamp your hands over your ears and hiss in pain.

At last having managed to get to his feet, 'Kushiel’ leans himself against the halberd and rubs tenderly at his shoulder, no doubt the one your saviour had viscously rammed into. “Ah, Nathaniel,” he grits out, “Typically exquisite timing. Always there to save the _little_ ones.”

 

 _Nathaniel_.

 

You want to weep with relief rather than terror at the mention of a familiar name.

Indeed, when you peer up, further and further, past titanic legs and gleaming, golden armour, your eyes finally land on the underside of a strong, dark chin. A pair of white eyes flick down to you, confusion and outrage swimming in their depths. “There was a city-wide order,” he barks, “No harm is to befall this human. Do you think yourself above the law?”

“Above the _law_?” Kushiel places a hand on his chest, aghast. “Why, I wouldn’t _dream_ of disobeying a direct order. But as far as I can tell, the human is perfectly fine. No laws have been broken here.” His eyes flash angrily from beneath that golden helmet and his gaze flickers to you for a moment. You cower as he sneers and mutters quietly, “Not _yet_ , at least.”

Nathaniel’s wings quiver aggressively whilst he glares the smaller angel down, growling deep in his throat. “Mark me, Kushiel. Your commander will hear of this breach of conduct.”

But the other merely laughs cruelly, already turning to stalk off down the dark street, tossing a few words over his shoulder, Nathaniel continuing to watch his movements warily. “You have no authority over me. What’s more, you have no _proof_.” The angel’s armoured wings flap briefly when he tests them, crouching ready to launch himself into the air. Before he does, Kushiel takes one last glance over his shoulder and though you can’t be sure with the shadows falling over his face, you get the distinct impression that he’s levelling you with a murderous grin. “Watch yourself, human,” he hisses, ignoring the way Nathaniel’s feathers bristle audibly, “I would so _hate_ for something bad to happen to you.” Then, without another word, he takes to the skies and disappears over the rooftops.

Above you, Nathaniel grumbles quietly to himself. His back foot shifts ever so slightly towards you, barely a noticeable motion for him, but for you, it’s like watching a solid wall of gold come careening in your direction. Stuck on the ground, unable to calm your rapid breaths, tears continuing to stream over your cheeks, you can merely clutch at your heart and sob. Everything in you is telling your body to get up. Get up and get away. The instinct to escape – to survive - is overriding sense and reason, so when Nathaniel’s gigantic bulk begins to turn slowly in your direction, you find yourself stumbling haphazardly upright, spinning on your heel and bolting as fast as your legs can carry you.

 

Nathaniel exhales slowly, watching Kushiel’s silhouette disappear behind a tall spire, out of sight. That had been far too close. “Good riddance,” he spits. Turning about, his voice softens the way it always does whenever you’re near.“Are you alright my friend? Did he hur-”

The angel’s eyes land on the ground, sweeping back and forth in search of your small form. Terror grips his heart momentarily as he considers the prospect that he may have accidentally stepped on you. “Y-Y/n!?” His normally infallible voice is frantic and it cracks, betraying how worried he is. After a petrifying second where he bends to inspect the underside of his boot, Nathaniel’s sharp eyes are drawn to motion not too far ahead of him. His head snaps up and he breathes a loud, relieved sigh at the sight of your hoodie bobbing up and down in the darkness, the colour of the material standing out nicely against the glistening white of the marble.

The happiness he feels at not having squashed you by mistake is short lived however.

’ _Why are you running away_?’

Nathaniel starts forwards, easily covering the distance you’d made in a few strides. Bending down to a knee, the angel reaches out a gargantuan hand, frowning gently.

A wall of solid metal slams to the ground in front of you, drawing your retreat to a grinding halt. You skid on the marble only to end up colliding with the obstruction, bouncing back off it and landing on your back. Again. Adrenaline urges you onto your feet again and you make to dart around the giant gauntlet but to your utter dismay, a second hand crashes to the ground beside the first, thick forearms stretching like vast tree trunks all around you. Shaking, you can’t find the nerve to turn and face the enormous angel, nor can you bear to see the pair of hands that’ve so effortlessly prevented your escape. So, in lieu of any other sensible reaction, you collapse to your knees and choke on a sob whilst leaning forwards to touch your head against the cold ground, covering it with trembling arms.

High above your small body, Nathaniel furrows his bushy eyebrows in concern. Softly, he whispers, “Y/n?” and uses the tip of one finger to nudge your hip as carefully as he can. What he wasn’t ready for, was the bloodcurdling scream that leapt out of you at his touch. The poor angel rips his hand away as though he’d received a particularly nasty bite and shoots you a wary glance. He’d barely touched you! Surely that hadn’t hurt?

It’s only when you curl in on yourself even more tightly and whimper, “ _Oh god, don’t kill me!_ ” that he realises the true nature behind your scream. He hadn’t harmed you, (thank the Creator)

You were just unfathomably, understandably scared out of your mind. By _him_.

Though he’s still disquieted by the fact that he’s the cause of such alarm, Nathaniel’s shoulders slump with relief. Aside from being smaller than his thumb, at least you’re alive. And for the naturally guarding angel, that’s a blessing in itself.

Steeling his heart against your meagre yelp of protest, the angel slips his finger beneath your slightly raised midsection, presses his thumb to your back and lifts you gingerly into the air.

Safe, solid ground plummets away below you and the speed at which you’re rising leaves your stomach behind on the white marble.

Whatever objection had been building is knocked out of you during the dizzying ascent. Legs kicking hectically, you slam your fists weakly against the enormous finger pressing into your stomach whilst the wind roars by in your ears.

Just as abruptly as it began, your precarious climb grinds to a halt and for a worrying moment, you’re left suspended high in the air. But then, a wide leather-clad palm emerges from below you like a leviathan and you’re promptly plopped down in the very centre of it on your stomach. When you don’t turn around of your own volition, two finger pads push at your side and roll you over with disconcerting ease.

Suddenly, you find yourself dangerously close to passing out again.

A familiar but daunting face hovers overhead. The angel’s short, neatly- trimmed white beard and sharply slanted eyebrows contrast beautifully against his warm, golden-brown skin. A pair of hard, deep set eyes are staring down at you and at this distance, your own gaze is drawn to the trench-like scar that expands the length of his face from chin to forehead. It’s the scar, more than anything, that calms you slightly. It grounds you in its familiarity and through the haze of fear, your mind finally registers who you’re looking at. With the realisation, the tiniest sliver of courage seeps back into your hammering heart.

“Nath….Nathaniel?”

As close as you are, it’s an easy feat to pick up the subtle twitch of his lips in response to hearing you say his name.

“Y/n,” the angel sighs wearily, the soft air he exhales rustling your hair. His eyes harden angrily for a second, drawing the breath from your lungs. “Kushiel, did he-?” Cutting himself off, Nathaniel urges his temper to quiet, for your sake. The growl rumbles through you like the engine of a motor car, thrumming in your chest and leaving your hands tingling where they rest on his palm.

’ _This is Nathaniel,_ ’ you keep reminding yourself, over and over, ’ _Good-hearted, noble-intentioned Nathaniel. You’re okay. Calm down_.’

Squinting at you, the angel searches your face as best he can for any indication of injury. Everything in him has to keep his treacherous fingers from curling in around you to brush against your clothes. Nathaniel’s wings flutter and fluff, responding to his sudden sense of urgency. In his hands, you’re so small. Too small. You were already tiny when at your regular height, but now….For some reason, he wants nothing more than to bundle you away to somewhere quiet and safe, far from prying eyes and would-be threats…

A shrill squeal cuts him from his thoughts and he blinks back into focus, eyes widening upon noting that, without his awareness, he’d folded one of his hands over the top of the other, essentially caging you delicately between each of his palms. He can feel a pair of tiny fists beat furiously against his gauntlet and the agitated struggles of the human within.

With a small shake of his head, Nathaniel pulls his hand away, head lowering to peer down at you guiltily. “My apologies, friend,” he murmurs, wincing when you scramble backwards upon seeing his face loom into view. For a long minute, the angel meets your wide-eyed stare. He’s fascinated, while you’re still petrified. Never in his life has he held something as fragile as you with your skin looking as though it’s made of precious china, the kind he’d seen sitting on your windowsill when he visited you from time to time. He wonders what you must think of him, a great, hulking brute staring down at you so rudely. Breaking himself out of his entranced state, Nathaniel casts his gaze around the empty street instead, hoping to give you a bit of respite from his incessant watching.

Indeed, without his concentration solely on you, breathing comes a little easier and you try to slow it down, concentrating on large, calming gulps of air. You brace your hands against the angel’s palm and push yourself up onto your wobbly knees. The movement in his hand draws Nathaniel’s focus again and you flinch, but his eyes, though piercing and stony, are reassuring- worried, even.

With your heart pulsing viscously, you try to speak, finding that you can only croak quietly. You clear your throat and try again whilst kneading the fabric of your hoodie, attempting to draw some comfort from the softness. “I…I’m fine,” you stammer, “Th-thanks to you.”

Sending the angel a shy smile, you try to deny the quick fluttering of your pulse when he returns it, his eyes crinkling lightly at the corners. He always looks so handsome when he smiles.

You brave a quick look over the side of his hand, gulping at the height before straining your eyes to see further down the dark street, managing to spot the discarded spell book and tomes that lay scattered on the ground.

“Oh man,” you grumble tiredly, “Azrael’s gonna _kill_ me.”

Following your gaze, Nathaniel hums curiously and begins to march towards the books, throwing you wildly off balance when the first tremendous step booms against the ground like a thunderclap and reverberates up through his armour, all the way to the hand you’re sat in. Strong fingers curl around you until you find yourself held in a loose fist that keeps you securely against his chest whilst he bends down to retrieve your dropped errand. “What happened?” he asks, inspecting the leather-bound book you’d inadvertently cursed yourself with.

You shift uncomfortably in his hand, suddenly embarrassed. The angel raises an eyebrow and lifts you closer to his face, tucking the books under one arm then turning in the direction of Azrael’s tower.

“I – Uh….I was just, um….” Defeated, you groan, figuring that the quickest way to solve this problem is to own up to it first. “I might’ve….opened that book when I wasn’t supposed to, and now-” You gesture to yourself “-Well, here we are.”

Above you, Nathaniel sighs and brings you down to his chest once more. With a pause for thought, he rechecks the inscription on the book’s spine. “And am I right in thinking that Azrael would have told you _not_ to open it?”

He purses his lips amusedly when you nod.

“Under _any_ circumstances,” comes your timid answer.

The angel huffs out a soft laugh through his nose, shaking out his wings with a smile. “You are inquisitive by nature, Y/n. It’s troublesome, certainly. But it’s also what I love about you.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he clamps his jaw shut, wide eyes staring straight ahead and his wings stiffening behind him. ’ _Did I really just say 'love?_ ’ he wonders, eyes glowing brightly, giving away the level of fondness behind the words. More often than not, Nathaniel wonders if you’re even aware of his slowly growing affection. Creators, he hopes not for your own sake. If a fellow angel found out that he’s harbouring feelings for a human?….He shudders at the thought. Although he is of a high enough rank to pursue a relationship, there isn’t a hope in Hell’s chance that it could be with an earthling. To protect you, he’d gladly suffer in silence. He admires that you’re so free and comfortable with your emotions and finds your humility very becoming. You once told him that he’s the kind of brave you want to be. The irony of which is that he’d always thought you were the braver one. You’d lost everything; family, friends, home, world….Future…

But you still fought tooth and nail to carry on, battling alongside Death himself to restore your world. On top of that…you’re…pretty. Nathaniel’s posture relaxes slightly, smile growing and he sighs dreamily. You are so pretty. In all his life, he’d never met an angel whose eyes are half as mesmerising as yours, with their elaborately decorated irises and the tangle of red veins that stretch across the white like tiny rivers.

Luckily for the angel lost in his own thoughts, you’re too focused on hiding your own warm cheeks to notice his reaction.

’ _He loves something about me_!’ you think to yourself, sporting a tiny smile. All this time, you harboured a well-hidden affection for him, sure that he barely even gave you a second thought, and now he’s telling you he loves something about your human nature. The thought makes you dizzier than the height.

“Oh, it’s _definitely_ more troublesome than anything,” you titter, “Curiosity’s gotten me into a right pickle this time.” Once you’re certain that your cheesy grin is under control, you regard the angel gratefully. “Lucky for me, you came along when you did.”

Now it’s Nathaniel’s turn to look sheepish. He uses the ridge of a wing to rub at the back of his head and glances skyward. “I…must confess,” he mumbles, passing under a floating glow-stone which glints prettily off his armour, “It was not luck that had a part in your timely rescue. I saw you leaving Jamaerah’s library unescorted. I was wor- wary that you might get waylaid, so I followed.”

He risks a glance down only to find you sitting with your arms crossed, a stern pout on your face. Admittedly, his feathers rustle a little at the charming sight.

“Hmph. You didn’t think I could handle one little errand on my own?” you huff grumpily. The angel simply gives you a flat, pointed look in response.

Quickly, you turn your face away to keep him from seeing the blooming colour on your cheeks. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. No need to look so smug about it.”

Chuckling heartily as he tromps up an elegant flight of stairs, Nathaniel exerts as much gentleness as he can muster to smooth down your windswept hair with the flat of his thumb. “Fear not,” he assures, “I’m sure Azrael will know what to do.”

For a while, you’re quiet which urges him to sneak a glance at his hand. “Y/n?”

“…What if he _can’t_?”

The angel’s thumb distractedly brushes down your back. “He will be able to.”

“Yeah but – but what if he just _can’t_? Nathaniel-” You lower your eyes. “-I’m _scared_.”

His soul trembles at your frightened expression and his jaw clenches firmly. _’This is wrong,’_ he thinks, inspecting your downturned face and wringing hands, ‘ _You’re supposed to feel safe with him. If he can’t make you feel safe, then what use is he_?’  
Taking his eyes off the path proper, he cups his hands around you and lifts them until your face is in direct line with his own, close enough for you to be able to touch his skin if you stretch.

“Y/n?.”

“Mmm….”

“Will you look at me so I know that you’re listening?”

He waits patiently for you to lift your head of your own accord and meet his gaze through your lashes.

“In the name of the Light,” he rumbles fervently, “there is nothing that will pull you away from me. I will not leave your side until this is dealt with, if it takes a hundred days or a hundred years. I give you my word.”

The sincerity in his voice – the determination laced into each word – the crease between Nathaniel’s eyebrows…You’ve never had someone devote themselves to your wellbeing like Nathaniel has. It’s enough to make you melt.

Offering him the biggest grin you can muster, you unsteadily rise to your feet, extending a hand across the gap between his palm and face. Stiffly, Nathaniel watches your deliberate movements, blinking in bewilderment when your microscopic fingers probe gently into the battle-scar beneath his left eye and stroke tenderly down it’s length.

“Thanks big guy,” you hum happily.

It takes a lot of willpower to stop himself from groaning contentedly. His eyes flutter half-closed, distracted by the first soft touch he’d received in a….

Come to think of it, has he ever been touched with so much gentleness?

The angel is broken from his trance by your laughter tinkling in his ears.

“Nathaniel!” You bite your lip and cover your beaming mouth to preserve his dignity. “You - your wings!”

Letting out a confused grunt in response, the angel’s head twists to look over his shoulder and he grumbles at his own bulky, feathered appendages. They’re both flared and fluffed widely at his back, giving the impression of being twice their usual size and each individual feather sticks out haphazardly, like those of a messy fledgling. ’ _Ridiculous_ ,’ he begrudgingly thinks, ’ _You are a seasoned warrior, Nathaniel. Act like it._ ’

Coughing awkwardly, he lowers you away from his face and forces the wings to deflate. Although his stateliness has just taken a blow, he can’t really bring himself to care much. After all, you are smiling again.

“We should - ah - probably get to Azrael,” he suggests, prompting a hasty nod from his miniscule passenger.

As Nathaniel resumes his easy, lumbering pace, you have to admit; even though you’d been shrunk, scared half to death, almost impaled and very nearly crushed; being held by the warrior’s steady hands, you really believe every word he’d said. It starts to feel as though there’s nothing in the world that can get to you now.

However, your mood slips the closer he walks to Azrael’s library, where the other angel is doubtlessly wondering what’s taking you so long.

——-

High in the White Tower, in a quiet, secluded study set a little apart from the twisting stairs and labyrinthine rows of bookcases, Azrael restlessly awaits your return. He’s poised elegantly over a table, scrawling a letter in neat cursive with a well-kept quill. Robes that appear softer and lighter than silk of mesmerising teal hang to the floor, each sleeve trimmed with gold and swirling, intricate detailing. A pair of crisp white wings stretch out behind his back, both wider than the angel is tall, their feathery tips brushing delicately over the piles upon piles of books and scrolls and maps that litter the study. Although a generally finicky, tidy angel, Azrael’s work-space could best be described as 'organised-chaos.’ He _is_ a scholar, after all.

As he leans over the desk, he hears someone enter and smiles when they knock politely on the wooden pillar that makes up half of his door.

“Ah, Y/n,” he greets, gracefully turning to meet you, “I was wandering where you’d – oh!” Azrael stops, thrown off by the sight of Nathaniel lingering in the doorway with one hand clasped over the other and held oddly against his golden chest-plate.

Remembering himself, the scholar dips his head to the warrior. “Nathaniel. I apologise, I was expecting our young friend. I thought she’d be back by now….” He pulls his lips into a tight line and looks out onto the balcony, then beyond it to the dark sky, finding it already flecked with silver stars. “You didn’t happen to see her, did you?”

Nathaniel shuffles on his feet for a moment before clanking further into the room. “Well, I-”

“Only, she managed to convince me to let her go into the city by herself, to fetch me some things from Jamaerah.”

“That……must have taken a lot of persuading, on her part.”

Sighing, Azrael shakes his head and plucks a book from a nearby shelf. “I must confess, I was reluctant. There are no shortage of angels in this city who are….shall we say, _averse_ to having a human walk amongst them. I was – _am_ – afraid something might happen. But, as she reminded me-” Here, he chuckles airily. “- Who would be so foolish as to threaten the friend of Death?”

“Well, we might have a _little_ problem there.” Nathaniel smirks when he feels you thump his palm, obviously discontented at having him poke fun at your new size. His expression turns sober a moment later though and he narrows his eyes heatedly. “Because _someone_ dared.”

A deafening silence drops like a blanket and smothers the study in an uncomfortable, suffocating atmosphere. Peeking out from between the small gaps in Nathaniel’s fingers, your eyes widen upon seeing the other angel’s face.

Perhaps your newly reduced height is credit to the fact that you can see Azrael's expression far more clearly than usual. The twitch of his left eyelid would be undetectable to even Nathaniel's sharp gaze, but for you, the movement is magnified tenfold. Even the brief flaring of his nostrils is painfully obvious, as is the way his elegant wings pause their gentle swaying.

A shudder rolls over you with the realisation that Azrael is _pissed_.

Now, Azrael has always been regarded as generally unflappable. He has the most admirable ability to remain cool and collected even when Death purposefully tests his patience. He hadn’t even lost his temper at you when you accidentally knocked over a shelf of dusty old scrolls, some of which were even older than the Charred Council, or so Ezgati claimed after she’d found you ashamedly trying to stuff yourself into a nearby supply cupboard to hide. So it’s unnerving, for both you and the angel holding you to hear his voice drip with so much underlying venom when he asks calmly, “ _Who_ _dared_?”

Recognising that he probably oughtn’t drag it out any longer, Nathaniel carefully clears his throat and lifts a hand to slide it beneath the one holding you. Your head pops up from behind his curled fingers and you throw your other friend a nervous wave. “Uh, surprise?”

The book in Azrael’s hand thuds to the floor with a loud bang, forcing you to cover your ears again with a wince. When you look up, his jaw is hanging slack and his eyes have burst open comically wide.

“ _Y/n_?”

In a flurry of motion, he drops lightly to the ground and drifts towards you with an outstretched hand.

Although you’re rationally aware that the approaching fingers belong to Azrael - the softest, most well-mannered creature you’d ever met, who wouldn’t say 'boo’ to a goose - that memory of Kushiel bearing down on top of you proves just a little too fresh.

Unwittingly, your hand flies out to grasp Nathaniel’s thumb, digging your nails into the soft material with an anxious bleat. Reacting subconsciously to your fear-induced action, the warrior closes his fist gently around you and pulls you away from the other’s searching fingers.

Azrael stops in his tracks, glancing at Nathaniel, who’s eyes are trained on the extended appendage, then he peers down at you, noting your wide eyes and the iron grip you’ve got on the gauntlet’s thumb.

Guilt turns your stomach when his brow pinches and his wings droop low until they scrape along the floor.

Rather than reach for you again though, he turns his hand over and holds it close to Nathaniel’s, palm facing up. “May I?” he asks in a hushed whisper.

Craning your neck back, you meet the steely glower of your protective companion and after a second of careful deliberation, you release his finger to give it a reassuring pat. Only when he sees your nod of approval does he move his hand over Azrael’s and slowly tips you out into the waiting palm.

The difference between being held by Nathaniel and being held by Azrael is amazingly noticeable. Whereas before, you’d sat in a gauntlet, through which you couldn’t feel or hear the warrior’s immense pulse, now you’re sitting in the scholar’s gentle hold. Suddenly, you’re made aware of how strange skin feels when you’re touching it whilst trapped in such a diminutive state.

Awed but cautious, you brush a finger down the pad of the angel’s thumb and marvel at the soft ridges that map the flesh. Incredibly, it turns out angels _do_ have fingerprints, just like humans.

Azrael, in turn, seems to be inspecting you just as closely. His eyes are narrow and focused as they sweep over your body and he steps back to his desk with a troubled hum, followed closely by Nathaniel, who takes the opportunity to dump the books on it. The Archangel then settles his cupped hand down on the hard surface, though he doesn’t unfurl it to let you off, content to hold you close, for the time being.

On the table, a myriad of candles burn warmly, chasing away the encroaching shadows with their tiny flames. Two of the ones closest to you, you realise, are strikingly familiar and wonderfully scented. Vanilla and fresh linen; Azrael’s favourite smells and the ones you’d brought him as a present several months ago. The fond memory brings a smile to your face and the delicate finger that touches your hair doesn’t frighten you nearly as much as you imagine it should. He catches your eye, features relaxing upon discovering that you seem to be in adequate health.

Behind you, Nathaniel begins to unfasten the clasps on his gloves, sighing as he peels them away and sets them down on the table. He catches you staring at his now bare hands, both of which are littered with small, white scars and various fading bruises. Grimacing, he imagines it must be a troubling sight to you; you’d never seen his hands without the armour on, after all. When you realise you’ve been caught, you quickly turn your attention back to Azrael, who shakes his head and sighs slowly.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

You’re taken aback, certain that his first question would be 'what in Heaven’s name happened to you?’

Typical Azrael; fussing over the _person_ instead of the _problem_.

“I’m fine,” you mumble after an uncomfortable stretch of silence spent fiddling with your hoodie strings.

A loud grumble from Nathaniel startles you.

“She is _far_ from fine. She was almost _killed_.”

Like the leaves of a tree, Azrael’s feathers ripple outwards from the joint of his shoulders to the very tips of his snowy wings. The angel’s face is unnervingly serene, unlike the deep, fearsome scowl that adorns Nathaniel’s features.

Shaking your head and licking your lips nervously, you try to downplay the severity of the situation. You stretch over the angel’s wrist and take a fistful of his sleeve’s gold-trimmed hem, tugging it to get his attention. “No, no no Azrael, it’s okay. It’s – It’s _fine_ , see? Nathaniel was there to help, so nothing bad happened! Well -” You hold out both arms and gesture at yourself. “- nothing except this.”

Flexing your hands, suddenly sullen, you compare them to that of his own, which only serves to remind you of the helplessness of your current predicament. Shame-faced and bleary-eyed, you slowly swing your legs over the side of his hand, hopping off and trying not to shiver at the noticeable loss of his body heat. Both of the angels share a troubled grimace before turning their vigilant eyes back to you. “It’s _my_ fault anyway,” you admit, pacing across the table.

“It is _not_ your fault.”

“It **is** , Nathaniel!”

Daintily, Azrael clears his throat to interrupt. “What makes you say it’s your fault?” he asks curiously.

“I-” But you falter, dropping your head to avoid looking at your friend’s patient face.

Gently, Nathaniel places his hand down on the desk and you give it a gander. Rubbing at your eyes and faking a yawn to give the impression that you’re tired, not upset, you gratefully take a seat on his knuckle with a sigh. There’s little the warrior can do to stop the way his heart lurches when you plonk yourself down on him.

The enormous angel can feel Azrael’s appraising, quirked eyebrow burning into the side of his face from the other side of the desk, though he hopes the flicker of a smile had happened too fast for him to spot.

You fold your hands and lean forwards, elbow resting on your knees, deciding to just get it over with. “So…I read the book.”

Your almost inaudible confession goes unanswered for a long time. So long, in fact, that you anxiously peer up, only to find that instead of looking angry or disappointed, Azrael is blinking at you with a kind, understanding smile; the kind a parent might give his child who’d accidentally dropped a glass of milk.

Right now, you can practically hear your mother telling you, ’ _Never mind_ ,’ in her sing-song voice.

His expression, though well meaning, instills in you a sense of being utterly juvenile, infinitesimal even. It’s not a sensation you’re particularly fond of, especially now. You already felt childish enough in comparison to these great, ethereal beings. At a little less than four inches tall, it’s _so_ much worse.

“Don’t _look_ at me like that!” you moan, pushing yourself off Nathaniel’s hand and squeaking with surprise when it follows you up, giving you an unneeded nudge to help you stand. Irritably, you’re starting to get the impression that these two don’t seem to think you capable of managing by yourself.

“How would you propose I do look at you then, little one?” Azrael inquires, causing you to huff indignantly at the newly condescending nickname.

“Ugh, I don’t know! Like you’re _angry_ at me? Like you’re upset because I didn’t do as you said?”

The angel’s lips do tug down a fraction and he lets his eyes slip closed, exhaling carefully.

“No, I should not have sent you out into the city unprotected. I really ought to have known that it would be dangerous.”

“But I wasn’t **in** danger until **I** opened that book!”

“Well, I suppose I _was_ asking for it when I told you not to open it.”

Though you somewhat share that viewpoint, you stamp your foot on the desk. “For goodness sake! Would you _stop_ coddling me? It’s nobody’s fault but my own that I’m stuck like this. I mean, Kushiel wouldn’t even have-”

“Kushiel?” Azrael’s head snaps up to raise a brow at Nathaniel. “Who is this Kushiel? It’s not a name I recognise?”

The warrior rolls his shoulders. “Just a guard of the market district. A low ranking soldier with big ambitions and no regard for the rule of law.”

“Market, you say? Not the platoon under general Douma?”

“Mmm, the same. Kushiel is the one who almost crushed our young friend here.”

Azrael hisses something in a language too complicated for you to understand, but by the way Nathaniel's eyebrows shoot up his forehead, it wasn't anything polite. 

After a few breaths, the archangel coughs softly, continuing the conversation. “Odd. The general hasn’t made his stance on humanity clear…. I wonder - do you suppose this was an orchestrated attack?”

You cross your arms and frown back and forth between the two angels, getting more and more perturbed by the fact that nobody seems to be fixing the problem yet. “Hello?” you call, jumping up and down, waving first at Azrael then at Nathaniel. “Earth to – uh - _Heaven_ to angels? Hellooo!?~”

“I don’t believe so,” Nathaniel continues, too wrapped up in the conversation to notice the tiny human bouncing around on the desk, “Kushiel seemed just as surprised as _I_ was by Y/n’s – ahem – predicament.”

“I’m right here! Stop talking about me like I’m not-”

“I shall, of course, send correspondence to Douma,” Azrael hums, “I will _not_ have angels thinking that they can get away with threatening her so audaciously-”

 

“ **HEY**!”

 

The two giants give a start, jolted from their discussion by a furious little shout. Looking down, they both stoop to get a better glimpse of you in the soft candle light, shocked and dismayed to find that you’re hastily swiping away tears of frustration.

Immediately, annoyingly, Azrael croons, bending low over the table and extending a hand out to pick you up. At the same time, Nathaniel kneels beside the desk and slides his arm over it, reaching out for you as well. He murmurs your name, his voice laced with worry but you stumble back and away from both hands, shooting the angels a tired frown.

“Please, I don’t _care_ about Kushiel or what he did. I just want to know if _this_ can be fixed?”

They stare at you for a long time, neither moving until Azrael pulls away to stroke the beard on his chin thoughtfully. Nathaniel doesn’t, guided by the impulse to reaffirm that your tears don’t correlate with an injury. Instead of touching you, he contents himself with resting the hand down at your side to maintain his dominating presence.

Azrael tuts, taking the leather book and studying the spine. “I apologise, I lost sight of what’s important. _Now_ ,” he taps the cover with a slender finger, “The good news is, this is merely a hex.”

“Oh, as long as it’s _just_ a hex,” you mutter, kicking at his discarded quill.

The angel smiles sympathetically, continuing, “It means it should wear off in a few days, as most hexes do. I believe this author meant for it to be a practical joke. Some of the scribes got themselves into quite a mess with his similar works. I’d been meaning to get all of his volumes’ hexes lifted.” He shoots you an apologetic frown. “I _am_ sorry, I should have warned you why you shouldn’t open the book.”

Rubbing your eyes before stretching, you reassure him with an understanding smile. “S'okay, like I said; This is on me…..Wait a minute….Did you say a few days?!”

He nods. “I’m afraid so..”

“Ooooh, _wonderful_.” As you speak, you collapse weakly down onto the side of Nathaniel’s waiting palm. “So, there’s no hiding this from Death then?”

Azrael laughs softly. “Oh good _heavens_ , no. That horseman could sniff out deceit in _any_ body. But, don’t worry yourself.” He watches as Nathaniel stands up and holds you to his chest again. “This day has been exciting enough for you, I think. You get some rest, I’ll deal with Death when he arrives.”

“A-are you sure?” you ask. The horseman is probably your closest companion and most trusted friend, followed by these two. But there’s a hardness about him; a coldness that sets you on edge. You know Death isn’t a danger to you, but at your current size, there’s no telling how your mind and body will react to his presence. _Especially_ if he loses his temper. All of a sudden, you feel very weary, a change that isn't lost on the vigilant Azrael. 

“Nathaniel, would you be so kind as to take her to my chambers? You’ve done much, but I wonder if you’d mind staying with her. I don’t want her alone tonight.”

You make to object the suggestion, claiming that you don’t need a babysitter, but Nathaniel has already bowed his head and thumped a fist against his heart. So, murmuring a tired goodbye to Azrael, who returns it with a hushed 'sleep well,’ you settle yourself more comfortably and absently run a hand over the tiny, white scars on the warrior’s fingers. If you register the tenderness in his voice when he mumbles, “Now let’s get you to bed,” you don’t react to it, too worried about what tomorrow might bring.

So much for adventure….


	2. Vulnerable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like 4 years later, a wild part 2 appears :)

Despite the arduous day you’d had; what with being shrunk by an ancient author who had a thing for practical jokes, had the life frightened out of you  _and_ suffered the emotional trauma of almost being crushed by an angel with a real distaste for humans; Sleep is surprisingly hard to come by.

Azrael’s intricately decorated bed chambers are dark, comfortably warm, quiet and there’s a gentle smell of clean cotton wafting up from the silky pillow that Nathaniel had carefully placed you down on. Yet still you toss and turn, comfortable but restless, worried and anxious. With a soft moan, you shuffle over yet again, turning to face the arched doorway, standing at which is your gargantuan, golden-armoured companion.

If you squint, you can make out Nathaniel’s silhouette shifting every so often, his head swivelling this way and that around the room. With every sweep, he stills when he’s facing the pillow and you can  _feel_  rather than see the pale gaze that rests on you for a long moment before it moves away once again. He  _must_ know you’re still awake, especially since one of the reasons you’re struggling to sleep had all but exploded down in Azrael’s study not too long ago.

You’d no idea  _when_  the horseman actually arrived but you certainly knew of his presence when the relative peace and quiet was interrupted by a deafening uproar of,  **“She’s WHAT!?”**

You sprang upright in bed with a timid gasp and stared fearfully at the doorway, fully expecting Death to come charging in at any second, a whirlwind of agitation. But Nathaniel took one look at your diminutive, trembling form down there on the pillow and, with a protective rumble, planted himself squarely in the entrance, barricading it with his enormous bulk and impressive wingspan.

Sending the back of his head a conflicted smile, you settle back into the soft pillow and pull the snip of Azrael’s cloth up to your chin.

From what you can hear, there’s a very one-sided conversation going on between Death and the archangel, the latter of whom is completely inaudible, even to  _your_  sensitive hearing. Whereas the former is so loud, you can hear him grumbling and ranting from all the way up here. 

And he does  _not_  sound happy.

A long bout of silence stretches into the night until, all of a sudden, there comes a loud thud from downstairs, resonant enough that Nathaniel visibly stiffens and reaches for his sword. Glancing over his shoulder, he sighs when you try to disguise a whimper as a cough and avert your gaze nervously.

Thunderous footsteps shudder the bed when he moves back into the room and stops beside you, carefully lowering himself to a knee.

In the pale moonlight filtering through the door to the outer balcony, you can see the way Nathaniel’s eyes are etched with concern and shadowed heavily with distress. You swallow thickly, fighting the urge to slam your eyes shut in a vain attempt to dispel the inevitable wave of nausea at seeing such a huge mass suddenly loom into your entire field of view.

Noting your clenched jaw and how your hands are fiddling nervously with the light, silken bed sheet, the enormous angel slows his movements considerably, an effort that doesn’t go unnoticed. You smile appreciatively up at him, palms turning sweaty when his face lights up at the sight of your positive expression. 

As though he were handling the finest china, he extends a finger to brush lightly down your bare arm. 

It’s a gesture he hopes is comforting. 

He’s seen Azrael use a similar technique on you whenever you’ve been upset in the past and with any luck, the familiarity will help to calm your nerves. In a gentle voice, he murmurs, “Will you be alright if I lend Azrael a hand in pacifying your horseman?” - and a part of you wants to laugh aloud that an angelic warrior of Nathaniel’s size and calibre is asking you for  _permission_  to leave. 

Panic spikes in your chest at the thought of being alone like this but you hate the fact that Azrael alone is currently having to deal with the irate horseman even  _more_. Still, despite the creeping feeling of dread whenever you consider that you’re going to have to face your nephilim friend sooner or later, you rationalise that, out of anyone present,  _you’ve_  probably got the best chance of calming him down. 

After all, you’d been through a lot together. 

 Death had rescued you from your dying Earth, kept you alive at every turn. You’d even been to Hell and back together, literally. And then, when you thought you’d lost him forever, he came back to you. He could have just left you, alone and mourning, along with a newly restored humanity. But he had  _come_   _back_.

You’re hoping these facts would quell your newfound fear of the horseman, but although you trust him not to lay a finger on you, you’re  _still_  nervous. 

Regardless, you refuse to let your other friends deal with your mistakes by themselves. So, with jittery nerves and a warbling voice, you timidly lower the soft bed-cloth from your chin and gulp, looking up into Nathaniel’s inquisitive eyes. “Do…do you want  _me_  to come?” 

 You’re ashamed of the relief that washes through you when he immediately shakes his head. 

“ _No_ ,” the angel responds, a little too sharply, “I don’t want him to-” Nathaniel hesitates, his mouth hanging open slightly as he searches your face. 

You stare up at him expectantly, cocking your head to the side.“Don’t want him to what?” 

 “…Nothing. It’s nothing,” he eventually sighs, ruffling your hair in a warm breath. Tapping the pillow beside you, he fixes you with one of his commanding frowns. “Now, stay here. You’re  _not_  to move.” 

 You stretch your neck up to peer over his arm at the long drop from Azrael’s pillow to the marble floor. “Duh.” 

 With a smirk, Nathaniel pushes himself to stand and turns, lumbering over to the door. Giving you one last, uncertain glance over his shoulder, the giant angel hurries from the room, calling softly, “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay…” Your quiet reply falls pointlessly into the dark chamber and is lost amongst the miles and miles of silken bedsheets. Somehow, the abrupt  _lack_  of  your mountain-sized friend manages to make you feel even smaller. His handsome grin doesn’t distract you from your diminutive stature and the heavy wings on his back no longer fill your ears with the pleasant sound of their rustling feathers. The shadows seem darker, longer and far more menacing. The one that appears on the balcony even seems to actually be moving. You fear that you may have been too hasty in your assumption that you’d be alright on your own for five minutes….

You blink, pressing yourself further into the pillow and your anxiety skyrockets as the dark shape on the floor begins to take on a proper, recognisable form. 

Swaying gently on the balcony’s arch, the thin, blue drapes do little to hide the enormous silhouette from view. It approaches them and your breath hitches when a hand slowly reaches out to pull the flimsy fabric out of the way.

A tall, winged figure, framed by moonlight, steps softly into the room and turns this way and that in clear search of something. On the bed, you’ve fallen deathly still, unable to breath and utterly incapable of making a sound through the thick terror clogging up your throat. 

“N -…Na- Nath!-” you whimper stutteringly, your breathing erratic and forced, especially as the stranger’s head snaps in your direction.

Pure, unadulterated horror chills you to the bone when the figure suddenly speaks in a voice like ice and hate that hisses softly through the bedchamber, flooding your body with chills and goosebumps.

 _That’s_  a voice you recognise.

“Hello again, little  _accident_.”

—–

Azrael knows that you and Death are close. He knows of the bond you both share; the kind of bond that can only be forged through trials of fire, through surviving an impossible journey together and discovering that you’ve somehow become  _friends_  along the way.

But until the horseman arrived late that night and found out what happened to you, Azrael had no idea just how _deep_ that bond ran.

“She’s _WHAT_?!”

Death’s outburst disturbs Dust from his perch upon his master’s shoulder and sends him fluttering down onto Azrael's desk in the corner with a disgruntled squawk.

“Please, old friend,” the angel urges softly, motioning for Death to lower his voice, “She is well enough, in herself-”

“ _ **Well**_   _ **enough**_?” the other all but screeches, “According to  _you_ , she’s no bigger than a rat!”

“Ah – Hmm, a _mouse_ would be more accurate,” he corrects hesitantly, earning himself a heated glare, fierce enough to cow even the bravest of angels. But Azrael remains unfazed, instead drawing himself up and exhaling softly. “Horseman-”

Before he can get a word in edgeways, Death interrupts brusquely. “Where  _is_ she?”

The angel’s eye twitches. “Hopefully she’s managed to stay asleep.”

“Azrael-” Stepping forwards, Death growls impatiently “-Where. Is. Y/n?”

With another deep sigh, Azrael tries to placate the tempestuous horseman, although he can already tell he’s fighting a losing battle. So, he strategically aims for Death’s soft spot. “I will take you to her, gladly,” he promises, “just….not yet. You must understand, she’s exhausted and needs to rest.” There isn't a creature alive who could explain why the most fearsome being in Creation concerned himself so much with one little human's general health.

Though the horseman’s fiery glare _does_ falter slightly, he shakes his hesitation off and snaps, “She can rest when I’ve seen for myself that she’s alright.” Striding forward, he steps around the angel, heading for the door that leads to the rest of his lavish home. However, he doesn’t get far before Azrael glides between him and the doorway, planting himself in a position that halts Death’s approach completely. “If you must-” he says quickly as the horseman’s eyes flash madly and his muscles tense and bulge, -then I can’t stop you. Though there is something I  _must_  tell you first. I doubt Y/n will mention it and I’d rather you heard it from me..”

“What  _is_  it?”

Wings and brow drooping with worry, Azrael explains quietly. “Horseman, I’m afraid after her accident, Y/n was…attacked.”

Even though he fully expected some kind of violent reaction, he still flinches when Death’s fist suddenly collides with the golden pillar beside the door, crunching the marble and causing cracks to spiderweb around his bandaged knuckle. The archangel hums, discontent as he glances at the ceiling. If you weren’t awake before, you almost certainly would be now.

Slowly, eerily, Death pulls his hand back and inspects it for a moment, then gradually closes his long fingers into a tight fist, leather bindings creaking deafeningly in the silence. “I want. A  _name_.”

Shaking his head, Azrael gives a regretful frown. “This is a Heavenly matter. Believe me, I  _am_  dealing with it. The only obstacle is that the culprit – blessedly - never managed to actually  _hurt_  Y/n and all we have is a biased witness in Nathaniel. The Council of Angels will want proof.”

“To Hell with your council,” the horseman snarls, “an angel threatened _my_ charge, I would know his name!”

“Death, we are all eager for justice. Why, Nathaniel told me if Y/n hadn’t been present, he’d have run her attacker through and been done with it.”

Death sneers behind his mask. “He  _should_  have. Y/n would’ve had no trouble watching them die.”

Knitting his slender eyebrows together, the angel gives him a stern frown. “That girl has seen enough death for a lifetime. You should know better than to dictate how  _much_  she should see.”

And Death can’t quite respond to that.

So instead, he sighs and begins to ask if he can finally go and see you, but the sound of heavy, clanking armour approaching from the white staircase draws his attention.

Both turn to face the direction of the noise, only to find Nathaniel emerging from the candle-lit gloom of the hall. The broad-shouldered angel squeezes himself through the archway, forcing Azrael back into the main room.

“My Lord.” He bows his head, thumping a fist against his golden breastplate and addressing the taller angel. Though when he turns his steely gaze to Death, he appears troubled, eyeing the crater in the pillar. “Death.”

“Nathaniel.”

Swiftly, Azrael places a hand on the larger angel’s forearm, asking in a hushed whisper, “Is everything alright?” His lips tug down worriedly. “Y/n…Is she -”

“She is fine.” The warrior claps the other angel reassuringly on the shoulder, at the same time shooting Death a frustrated huff. “She’s  _trying_  to get some precious sleep.”

Fuming, the horseman glares between the two angels, attempting to keep his temper in check. Not for the first time, the rider is taken aback by his own behaviour. It’s not as though he has any reason to worry about your safety anymore. Your journey with him had ended the moment he fell into the Well of Souls. So why hadn’t he just left you alone to live out the rest of your days on Earth? Why didn’t he stay away? If he weren’t so cynical, he might admit to what it really is.   
Friendship, plain and simple.   
After all, one doesn’t go through the kind of things that you two have, without growing closer as a result. He’s come to learn to actually enjoy being around you. He becomes spiritless in your absence and apprehensive when you’re in danger.

Death groans internally upon realising that this niggling feeling in his chest has only gotten worse now that he’s learnt you’re a mere three and a half inches tall. Wonderful.

A sharp hiss breaks the horseman from his musings and draws everyones’ attention to the angry ball of ebony feathers perched on the desk. "Dust? What-"

He cuts himself off. The crow is staring through the arch doorway, hopping up and down sporadically and flapping his wings in a frenzy as he continues to hiss and squawk like a bird possessed. In an instant, Death’s head snaps towards the door as well and – like a missile - he hurtles through it, forcing Azrael and Nathaniel to fling themselves aside to avoid being bowled over.

“Horseman?” the angelic warrior blurts out, “what-”

“You left her  _alone_!?” comes the outraged response. The two angels share a look of dawning dread before flying after Death, not bothering to waste time with stairs.

They both reach the top by the time he races through the bedchamber door and starts calling your name, a strained edge in his usually unflappable voice. A moment later, Nathaniel barrels into the room as well, heart in his throat. Azrael is close behind, his graceful features twisted into a picture of worry. Reflexively, the archangel sends a mental command into the room and light springs from seemingly nowhere, illuminating each dark corner in a warm, golden glow. 

Suddenly, the angels find themselves barred from further advancement by the horseman’s sinewy arms which are flung out to each side, forcing them into an abrupt halt.

Nathaniel opens his mouth, more than ready to demand that Death move aside but a soft gasp from Azrael gives him pause and he instead squints into the bed chamber, following the archangel’s mortified stare with a growing feeling of dread.

What he sees brings his blood to an instant boil.

 _Kushiel_  is skulked beside the bed, one hand levelling a deadly-sharp halberd at the three newcomers whereas the other is clenched into a tight fist and held out before him like an affronting taunt.

Sandwiched right inside the crushing grip, writhes a tiny, helpless human. Only your head and shoulders are visible, poking out the top of his hand.

Even across the room, Nathaniel’s keen ears pick up on your rapid, wheezing breaths and the little grunts you make as you thrash weakly and desperately in a fruitless effort to dislodge yourself. Tiredly, your eyes flicker from Azrael, down to Death before finally roving up to meet the wide, blazing glare of Nathaniel.

The angel holding you increases the pressure after you manage to raggedly squeak out, “ _G…gu…guys_?”

It’s the sheer volume of fright and pain in your voice that kicks their instincts into overdrive.

From his newfound perch on the frame at the bottom of the bed, Dust caws and squawks agitatedly, digging his talons into the silver metal. 

The chamber fills with static in response to a sudden surge of magical energy that emanates from Azrael’s crackling fingertips and dances across his palms. Death drops his arms in favour of grabbing the scythes hanging from his belt, eyes flashing a bright, burning orange and the hate filled glare he’s sending Kushiel is so laden with carnal desire, the sight of it makes you want to cower behind the angel’s thumb.

Finally, there’s Nathaniel.

In all the time you’ve known him, you’ve never seen the warrior scared. You’ve seen him worried, certainly. Anxious. Apprehensive. Even shaken. But  _never_ had there been a day that you looked at him and found fear…..Until now.

His eyes - always so unfaltering in their strength – lock you in a gaze and his breath catches. Terror? No – something more like torment spirals up from his stomach and into his throat, stealing the words back from the tip of his tongue. A desperate plea that you be let go dies when the crushing reality of this situation barrages his consciousness. ’ _If he kills her-_ ’ He struggles for breath. ’-  _it’ll be all._ _ **My**_ _._ **Fault** _._ ’

Silence stretches on for an eternity. None of your friends dare move, Kushiel’s head is darting about to keep each of them in his sights, refusing to give them any sort of opening whilst you can only take deep, gulping breaths and try to push past the pain in your ribs, fighting to stay conscious for lack of oxygen.

After another beat of quiet, it’s eventually Death who speaks. “Now, I’ve never been one for dramatics,” he says light-heartedly, pulling a skeptical snort from the almost blacked-out human, “but if you don’t let her go, I promise you – there will be nowhere you could run that I wouldn’t find you. There isn’t a hole deep enough to hide you from my wrath. You touch one hair on that human’s head, and I swear – by the time I’m done - you’ll be  _begging_  me to throw you to Oblivion.”

You sob in distress when Kushiel moves his thumb on top of your head and presses down. Hard. Azrael gasps and Nathaniel cries out abruptly, “Stop! You’re hurting her!” while Death blinks, compulsively stretching his sinuous hand out towards you.

Angry, cornered and mad with a fleeting pinch of power, the angel gives Death a twisted grin. “I'd heard the rumours but I never believed they might be true… The mighty reaper -  **Death**  himself - has gone  _soft_!”

Choosing to ignore the attempt to bait him, Death mutters to Azrael, “Am I right in assuming  _that_  this is the angel who attacked Y/n before?”

The archangel nods slowly.

“Marvellous. Saves me hunting him down behind your back.”

His eyes never leaving yours, Azrael lifts his hands and spreads his fingers wide, a gesture meant to soothe your cornered captor. “Put the human down,” he softly urges, “and this goes no further….”

“ _This_?” Kushiel hisses as he shakes his fist, jostling you around violently. “What  _this_  is….is  _ **sick**_!” “You should never have allowed one of these to desecrate the White city!”

“ _Desecrate_  it!?” Nathaniel laughs harshly, “She helped  _ **save**_  it!”

You begin to struggle again as Kushiel’s grip tightens exponentially and he snarls, although he doesn’t offer a retort because even he – deluded as he is – cannot deny  _that_  fact. Jamaerah the Scribe  _doesn’t_  lie.

“What madness has claimed you?” Azrael shakes his head, “Humanity is not our enemy, why  _do_  this?”

Disturbingly, Kushiel’s tongue darts out to lick his lips. “They are  _beneath_  us, Azrael. They do not deserve the privilege of walking among giants.”

“Because they are a younger species?” the archangel attempts to reason, “Kushiel, I have long since been taught that we are not so superior as we may want to believe. Trust me, this human is every  _bit_  our equal.”

“This one’s presence is an insult to our kind. There are those of us who remember when we were  _worshipped_  by these miserable whelps, not  _comparable_  to them.”

Azrael, Death and Nathaniel all stiffen when Kushiel tosses you into the air before snatching you out of it again roughly with a smug laugh. A gasp of agony escapes you at the hard press of his fingers against your fragile sides.

You’re getting really tired of being thrown around like a rag doll and belittled by this guy. “You can punish me after she’s dead,” he smirks, squeezing hard enough to make you shriek, “you can even kill me. But in the end, Heaven will thank me for this.”

“You’re insane!” Nathaniel bellows, shifting clunkily on his feet, uncertain whether he should risk diving straight in or not.

Kusheil laughs, “No, Nathaniel. I am  _enlightened_. And you will be too, starting with  _this_  human's death!” In an instant, you find yourself being held high above the triumphant angel’s head, staring down into his madly. 

So far, you have had a really terrible day. 

But damned if you’re going down without a fight.

“Alright! That’s  _it_!” you manage to hiss through gritted teeth. At the very apex of a furious shout, you lurch forwards and sink your teeth deep into the exposed flesh of Kushiel’s thumb.

The effect is instantaneous. Letting out an almighty roar, the angel all but tosses you away from him….and in the blink of an eye, the room bursts into a flurry of motion.

Death – eyes trained on your swiftly falling body – dives forward with arms outstretched and at the same time, Nathaniel lunges around him towards Kushiel. Azrael, having anticipated that the horseman would prioritise catching you, sends a bludgeon of thick, magical energy right at Kushiel’s face. It hits the angel square in the head, snapping it back and giving Nathaniel enough time to body-slam him into the far wall, wings and nostrils flaring furiously.

The sensation of falling is just as horrifying as you imagined it would be. For a long while – too long – there is only the rushing air, gut-wrenching panic and a high pitched keening that you suddenly realise is emanating from your throat. And then, after what feels like an eternity spent in free-fall, you at last hit something solid and cold.

But it isn’t the ground.

Whatever it is dips when you land on it, following the line of your descent so as to soften the impact. Despite the extra effort, you still end up with the wind knocked out of you.

Trembling from over-brimming adrenaline, you gradually start to become aware of several voices all booming above you, though your ears are ringing, your head is nauseatingly reeling and your ribs feel like they’re on fire. Softly, you moan and crack your eyes open, blinking blearily down at your hands. A rush of relief has you shaking even more violently. You’re alive! You touch a hand to your chest and gush out a breathless laugh, regretting the action almost instantly due to the pain in your ribs. High overhead, someone is urgently rasping your name.

Unfortunately, upon looking up, the relief in your chest is quickly snuffed out and replaced with a spike of apprehension.

Two bright, unwavering eyes that glow like twin pools of molten lava stare back at you.

Swallowing audibly, you drop your gaze to the pale, elongated fingers cupped beneath you as you wither under the reaper’s heavy glare. You’re embarrassed to find yourself wishing for Nathaniel’s steady hands instead. The angelic warrior is at least predictable, often deliberate and he has always –  _always_  – been nothing but gentle and warm with you, even before you were struck with this shrinking hex. Death, however, is a little less _calculable_. He just….lacks Nathaniel’s integrity and Azrael’s kindly gentleness. You trust Death - you’d trust him with your life. But standing at barely four inches tall, it’s hardly any wonder that your survival instincts perceive Death as a threat – because in truth – that’s what he is, what he’s always been.

And so, your breathing comes heavier and you work yourself into another small panic, too anxious to meet the horseman’s eyes.

For a moment, Death just cradles the tiny body in cupped hands, his chest heaving up and down as he stares at you, content in the knowledge that you’re  _alive_.

A strained grunt breaks his unnerving calm. Slowly, he drags himself around to find the intruder held fast against the wall by the much larger Nathaniel.

Carefully transferring you to one hand, Death uses the other to draw his scythe and stalks dangerously across the room, lifting it high above his head as he reaches Kushiel, seconds from bringing the blade down between his yellow eyes.

“Horseman, stop!” Azrael’s voice rings out, halting him in his tracks.

Through gritted teeth, Death tilts his head slightly, though his fierce stare never leaves your attacker. “What reason,” he seethes, “could you  _possibly_  have for defending this…this  **murderer**?”

Calmly, as if he’s trying to soothe a wild animal, the archangel approaches and meets your eyes from Death’s hand. His eyebrows knit together and he pulls his lips into an apologetic grimace, replying, “Believe me, I want this angel punished as much as you do -” He frowns at Death’s scoff. “ - but it is not  _our_  place to decide if he lives or dies. He will be put to trial, at the very least.” The angel’s gaze turns soft and you feel as though he’s speaking predominantly to you now. “He will  _not_  escape punishment.”

Nathaniel remains unusually quiet, his heavy chest pressing harder into Kushiel’s and he bares his teeth close to his face.

“A trial!?” Death barks, “He should be  _executed_. And how  _fitting_  that his executioner should already be here….” The hand holding you grows colder at his words. Or perhaps its just your imagination.

Before he can advance further though, Azrael speaks again. “Death, this is a time of  _peace -_ the first moment in a long, _long_ time that we aren’t all at each other’s throats. If you – a  _rogue_  horseman – kill this angel without grounds, then I  _cannot_  protect you from the repercussions.”

“I don’t  _need_  your protection, Azrael,” Death growls, “and neither does  **he** deserve it! He tried to kill my -” Death pauses to glance down at you. There’s something tender in his eyes that almost puts your mind at ease. “ - my  _friend_ ,” he finishes quietly, sounding surprised at himself.

If you hadn’t been shrunk by a mischievous, angelic author from the past, you’d say that was the most shocking thing to happen today. Although you knew the horseman considered you a friend, he’d never really admitted it…Not aloud and  _certainly_  not in front of witnesses.

You stare up at him - awed - if not still completely unnerved.

Kushiel coughs roughly, shoving against Nathaniel but merely getting crushed against the wall again by his impressive bulk. “Alas, I did  _not_  kill your **pet** human,” he spits, lips curled into an ugly snarl. 

He flinches when the warrior cracks his fist into the wall inches from his head. “Don’t you  _ **dare**_  insult her!”

Death raises his scythe again.

“This is  _not_  the way we do things here,” Azrael urges softly.

For a long, tense moment, the reaper stands there, poised for a kill and the room holds its breath.

Azrael hovers to his left, eyebrows furrowed in disapproval. Nathaniel has his forearm pressed up against Kushiel’s throat as he moves slightly to the side to make room for the horseman’s blow, the promise of murder in his pale eyes. The pinned angel – for the first time – is staring hard at the scythe, something in his expression that rather satisfyingly resembles fear.

And finally, the horseman moves his fervid gaze down to you, where you hang in his delicate grip. There’s an uncomfortable pang in his chest when he sees that you’re staring at him in much the same way as Kushiel is. With barely disguised horror.

Under that innocent gaze, Death falters. With a quiet sigh, he lets his eyes slip shut and at last, lowers his scythe. As soon as he does, everyone else lets out an exhale.  

Apparently, the diffusion of the immediate danger makes Kushiel keen to push his luck because he sneers down at you and manages to choke out around Nathaniel’s arm, “This is not a victory, gnat! The council of angels has no love for humanity either. They will rule in  _my_  favour and the next time we meet, your guardians may not be around to protec-  **GACK**!”

He’s swiftly cut off by a gigantic fist that collides with the side of his skull and knocks him completely unconscious in a single, ferocious punch.

With a low moan, he slumps forward as Nathaniel takes his hand back, pressing a kiss to his own knuckles and stepping aside, allowing the limp body to collapse to the ground in an undignified heap.

“ _Nathaniel_ ,” Azrael scolds, though even he can’t quite keep the amused lilt out of his voice. Huffing, the warrior merely rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, muttering hotly, “He had it coming.”

Now that the threat has been (somewhat) neutralised, Death returns his focus to you. He notes that your breathing is shallow and comes in quick, sputtering bursts and you have your arms wrapped loosely around your ribs, face scrunched up in obvious pain.

“Y/n?” A voice at his back has the horseman’s eyes narrowing to savage, orange slits and he abruptly whirls about, rounding on Nathaniel. “ _You_.  **Left**.  _Her_!” he seethes, long fingers caging over your head and trapping you between his palms.

Ignoring the nearly imperceptible pounding of little fists at his fingers, Death’s head lowers and he hunches his shoulders predatorily, glowering at the shame-faced angel, who opens his mouth and tries to respond. However, nothing of any substance comes out following the realisation that he actually  _agrees_  with Death.

“…Yes,” he murmurs defeatedly, never taking his eyes off the horseman’s clasped hands, “I did.”   
Despite his honest response, Death isn’t finished. “What if she’d been _killed_?”

“Horseman,” Azrael calls, the only one not deaf to your quiet, wheezing pleas for release. Deaf to his warning, Death jerks his head to the archangel. “You said this will last no more than a few days?”

“I – well, yes. But Death, you -”

“Good. I’m taking her with me.”

The sound of both angels protesting drowns out your own gasp.

“Now, be reasonable-.”

“No! You  _can’t_!”

He appraises the both of them cooly, eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t realised you two had become the authority on this.”

Nathaniel’s entire posture shifts from desperate to defensive in the blink of an eye. Wings flared and jaw set, he takes a heavy step towards Death. “Y/n is our friend too. You cannot take her from m-” He spares Azrael a side-long glance. “…from  _us_.”

At last removing one of his hands and transferring you securely into a fist, the horseman stabs a long, slender finger up at the warrior’s face. “ _Don’t_  you presume to dictate what I can and cannot do,” he seethes dangerously, “I did not spend  _months_  trying to keep this human alive  _just_  to lose her to your neglectful incompetence.”

Nathaniel bristles but whatever retort he may have had is cut short by Azrael exclaiming, “Death, for Heaven’s sake, loosen your grip!”

The two warring parties whip their heads down to look at you.

Tiny fingers scrabble weakly against the tough hide of Death’s curled thumb. A little chest heaves in and out raggedly, incapable of making a full inhale and a pair of watery eyes stare into his imploringly.

And you’re shivering fit to burst.

The cold of Death’s hand does very little to help your body recover from the shock it’s gone into after almost having been killed by Kushiel. Wincing disconcertedly, the horseman unfurls his fist and glides over to the bed, sliding you slowly from his palm onto the soft sheets. He kneels close, steeling his hollow heart against the way you drag yourself backwards to put some distance between you and that intimidating, enormous bone-mask.

Watching the display with sad eyes, Azrael turns to give Kushiel a distasteful glance before beckoning to Nathaniel. “I don’t suppose you’d mind bringing him to the barracks? I shall accompany you - of course - and explain what… what  _occurred_.” Nathaniel nods and stoops to grab the downed angel by his arms. Suddenly, a shrill voice cries out, “Wait!” startling him into roughly dropping the body.

All three of them swivel about to face you, staring expectantly.

Embarrassed, sore and ashamed of yourself for your onset cowardice, you twist your face away from Death, avoiding his gaze entirely. “Can…can Nathaniel stay instead?” You squeeze your eyes shut rigidly, whispering, “ _Please_?”

The horseman blinks several times in rapid succession, an objection or even an outright refusal catches on the tip of his tongue as he stares at you, not hurt – per se – but he does look… _lost_. Or perhaps ‘abandoned’ would be more apropos.

“Of course,” the angel in question breathes, stepping around Kushiel to move beside the quiet horseman. He reaches out a bare hand and gently rests the tips of his fingers on your back to prop you up. You miss the huff of air that Death releases as he pushes himself to stand. Without a word, he stalks over to the unconscious angel and throws him unceremoniously over his shoulder like a clanking, metal sack of potatoes. Urgently, you feel the need to apologise, to explain yourself. But the words just sound hollow and empty in your mind. What on Earth could you say? ’ _Hey Death, sorry but I can’t be around you right now because you’re too capricious and I don’t feel safe with you whilst I’m this small?_ ’

It’d offend him greatly.

So instead, it’s with a heavy heart that you watch your friend stroll past Azrael and out through the chamber door with Dust fluttering down onto his shoulder as he goes, not once even sparing you a backwards glance. 

‘ _Fair enough_ ,’ you miserably think, blinking up at the teal-robed angel who seems to have drifted close to you without you really noticing, an elegant hand resting delicately over his heart. You notice his eyes sweeping over you with impressive speed and acuity - not so subtly assessing the damage. 

When you squirm under the excessive study, pain lances up your sides and you’re unable to catch the undignified grunt that leaps up your throat. Azrael winces and extends a finger to touch it briefly against your shoulder. “I am sorry. I want to heal your pain.” One of Nathaniel’s fingertips ghosts gently over your ribs. “But at your current size, I fear my magic’s potency could do more harm than good.”

“It’s alright,” you cough, your sides protesting the motion, “Nothing’s broken…I think. Just bruised.”

Neither of them look comforted by that in the slightest. If anything, the archangel’s eyebrows fall even further down his forehead.

“Look, I’ll be okay. I have Nathaniel with me…” you trail off and bite your lip, looking out through the arched doorway. As an after thought, you shyly ask, “D’you think he’ll be alright?” indicating after Death. 

The archangel hums, disconcerted. Looking down at you, his lips tilt into a reassuring – if uncertain – smile. “Worry not, I’ll speak with him,” he pauses, then quietly adds, mostly to himself, “… _if_ he’s in the mood to listen..” Gracefully, he drifts after the horseman but not before stopping in the doorway to cast a sorrowful look over his shoulder. “I shall be back shortly. Nathaniel, if there’s any trouble while I’m gone, find a healer – but  _don’t_  leave her alone. Keep her still and rested. Above all, keep her  _safe_.”

Despite the dulcet tone, there’s an accusing edge to his voice that unsettles your stomach. The warrior must have felt it too, because he inclines his head to stare at the hem of Azrael’s long robes rather than meet his stern gaze. “Aye,” is all he utters.

And with that, Azrael folds his wings regally across his back and disappears through the door after Death.

In the dimly lit room, you heave a sigh that’s equal parts relief and exhaustion.

Nathaniel keeps his head down, eyes fixed on the edge of the bed rather than you. Eventually, you give up trying to catch his gaze and settle on shifting your stance, trying to alleviate the throbbing in your torso. Pursing your lips, you tap a finger against the sheets, glancing at the monumental hand that rests too far for you to reach. The longer you go without saying something to him, the longer he has to try and blame himself. “It wasn’t your fault,” you call as casually as possible. 

A heavy sigh is all that answers as it slips from between his full lips and washes over you, gentle as a warm breeze.

"Nobody could have known that Kushiel would-” 

“How can you say, it wasn't my fault?” the goliath suddenly forces out through gritted teeth. His hands curl into fists on the bed, pulling the pale scars taught across the surface of his skin. Finally, he drags his gaze up to meet yours. “I left you. Alone. And it almost got you killed.” With a metallic clang, his shoulders slump and wings droop to the floor, the pristine, white feathers fluffing themselves up of their own accord. 

The sight might be adorable if it wasn’t so tragic.

With a grunt, you push through your discomfort to crawl over to Nathaniel's hand and give one of the small, white scars a soft pat, smiling up at him. “ _Buuuut_ , I’m still here, aren’t I?”

The warrior scrutinises you for a moment before shaking his head. “But you almost  _weren’t_ ….I am unfit to be your guardian,” he croaks, dropping his eyes once more.

This time, you smack your hand against his knuckle, although it’s hard for you, you’re sure he barely felt it. “Hey,” you call, “Look at me.” 

Nathaniel’s hesitates but eventually turns his flinty gaze back to you, surprised to find that your eyebrows are pulled together insistently and a forgiving smile is lifting your cheeks. “Look at me. I’m  _fine_  - well. You know….mostly.” His expression wilts, urging you to continue. “You’re a good person, Nathaniel! And you always have the best intentions. You were just trying to help Azrael, you mustn't blame yourself for things you can't control.” 

Subtly, he quirks a knowing brow at you. “Much like  _you_  shouldn’t blame yourself for the hex?” 

You snort scornfully, crossing your arms. “Oh no, that was pure idiocy. I could’ve just  **not**  opened the book.  _You_   _couldn’t_  help that Kushiel is a complete psychopath.” 

He peers down at you for a while, his expression hard and unreadable. Then, just as you’re about to speak up, he reaches up to self-consciously rub at the scar beneath his eye and asks, “You….You would still trust me? Even though I wasn’t here to protect you when you needed me?” 

Embarrassment flushes across your face and you have to dodge his sincere look. “Yeah! Course I do!” you mumble awkwardly, “You’re my friend! So…so I guess I…. - _you_   _know_ - I’ll always need you, or whatever..” 

And despite the cold ache of guilt that gnaws at his resolve and the horseman’s words still ringing in his ears, Nathaniel blinks once, then slowly returns your smile. There isn’t a trace of blame in your eyes and you still want to be his friend. His self pity can wait until you’ve returned to your normal stature. For now, he’ll just have to be satisfied with making sure you’re comfortable. 

Speaking of which -

“Hey,  _easy_. Be careful,” he urges as you start getting to your feet, “Azrael said you need to-”

“Oh, Azrael’s just being a worry-wort. I’m  _pretty_  sure no bones are broken and I’m perfectly capable of standing on my own.” Your shallow laughter rings delicately in his ears, pulling his brows into a deep frown.

“You’re hurt,” he rumbles with a sigh, “You always seem to be getting hurt.” Regardless, he proceeds to lower his impressive head until his chin almost brushes against the silk. At the closeness and the hugeness, your heart starts to hammer once again, roughly jolting your sides with each beat. Shoving your apprehension (and sore ribs) aside, you step bravely up to the angel’s face, peering dazedly into his endlessly emotive, milky-white eyes. Hesitantly and slower than a glacier, he tilts his chin down so that you can reach out to rest a minuscule hand on the bridge of his nose. He has to resist the urge to sigh contentedly. Every time you engage him in an tender act, no matter  _how_  small you are, he revels in it. Angels are not altogether openly affectionate creatures, even amongst one another. It felt as though they each have a quota for how much they could give in one day and they are all severely rationing it.

Until you came along with your odd, Earth ways and your affinity for  _touching_ , he hadn’t realised just how starved for it he’d really been. Nathaniel squeezes his eyes shut with a grin. 

“Thank you,” you smile earnestly, “for saving me.”

Blinking, the angel exhales softly through his nose and murmurs, “You saved  _yourself_.” The pair of enormous lips graze against your clothes as he talks. “That was quick thinking, what you did. And it was  _extraordinarily_  brave. All  _I_  did was apprehend Kushiel..” He pulls his mouth up into a grimace at the memory of you sailing down towards the hard ground. "Death was the one who caught you though..And I must ask-” Here, he pulls away slightly, causing your hand to slide down his nose to stop on the tip. “Why did you choose to stay with me? Why not the horseman? I was under the assumption that you two were close friends?” 

“We were!” you flinch back, dropping your hand, “I mean, we  _are_! I..ugh - I don’t know!” The outburst sends pain shooting up your back, so - far more slowly and quietly - you take a step back from Nathaniel’s face to rub your temples. “I just…I just wanted  _you_ , okay?” Pausing, you stretch your lips into a thin line, looking to the doorway. “I just hope Death’s not too angry with me…” 

“Come now,” the angel chuckles, “You’ve seen him angry, yes? That was not anger.” 

“Well, disappointed then. I hate that I couldn’t even hide that I was scared of him.” 

“I think it’s only natural,” Nathaniel shrugs his impressively wide shoulders, causing the bed to creak with the movement, “Your mind perceives a threat and fear is the response. And your instincts don’t lie; the horseman  _is_  dangerous.”

Frustrated, you lower your head, muttering, “Not to  _me_ , he’s not….and I know that.. So why don’t I  _feel_  like it?” 

The angel opens his mouth to say something else but, out of tired desperation, you stretch up and quickly place your hand on the corner of his upper lip, causing him to fall silent. “Can…can we just drop it?” you murmur, ashamed to have admitted, aloud, that you’re afraid of your best friend. “Please?” 

Nathaniel’s jaw snaps shut at your touch. He takes in how hard you’re trying to remain standing and how your eyes have become watery and unfocused, pointed at your own feet. 

“….Alright,” he exhales softly, earning himself a grateful smile. 

You blink when he stands again and reaches up to unfasten the clasps on his chest-plate and shoulder pauldrons. He pulls off each, heavy piece of armour with expert precision, even stooping to unclip the leather straps that keep his thigh-guards in place until at last, he stands before you, a veritable mountain of a man, in only a thin, white, sleeveless undershirt and a pair of loose-fitting, brown trousers. The sight would be impressive if you were at your regular height. As it is, you just about stop your jaw from dropping. Hundreds of feet of brown muscle towers above you, nearly every limb harbouring pale scars of varying length and depth. He raises a brow when he catches you staring and smiles warmly at the way you quickly jerk your head to the side and look at the wall instead.  

With that, he rests his hand on the bed, palm up and watches carefully as you crawl tentatively into the centre and sit down, sighing in contentment at the sensation of being utterly secure. Safe in the warm hold of your gigantic companion, you try to fight a losing battle against the lull of sleep, made even more difficult because the angel keeps using the fingertips on his other hand to rub small circles into your back through your clothes. 

Nathaniel stands slowly, turning around and sinking down onto the bed. Briefly, he wonders if Azrael will mind him putting his boots on the bed sheets before giving a mental shrug and laying back against the pillows, keeping you steady in his hand until he releases you delicately onto his shirt. You never imagined you’d be sitting on your favourite angel’s chest, separated from his hot skin only by a thin piece of cloth, yet here you are. 

The warrior studies your face for a while before raising a hand and using the very tips of his fingers to gently stroke you, following the curve of your spine right down to your tailbone and back up again. You realise too late that he’s trying to get you to nod off, obviously conscious of the stress today has put you through. Already you can feel the alluring spell of sleep tug at your eyelids. Using his forefinger, he guides you onto your stomach and hushes you when you try to push back against the heavy weight only to grunt at the pang in your ribs. 

“Don’t fight me.” His rumbling voice vibrates in his chest and hums beneath your hands, followed by the booming, slow thumps of his heartbeat which lulls you further into lowering your head onto his shirt, too finished with the day to put up much of a protest. 

Long after you’ve fallen asleep, Nathaniel’s smile remains etched across his face, happier than he’s been in a long time to be able to hold you so close. 

He only hopes Azrael can smooth things over with Death and the Council of Angels quickly and relatively easily, for your sake. If Kushiel goes free, the angel may have no choice but to allow the horseman to take you away. .…


End file.
